Perfect in Her Misery
by coolmarauders
Summary: I creep by her window. It’s dark, but it’s open. Slowly, ever so slowly, I open it. There is a faint creak, and I halt. I want to surprise her. Gently, softly, I fly into her room. Her new one. She’s fifteen now, and has a separate room. I know she misses


_Disclaimer: I don't own Peter or Wendy. Or really any of this. Except for the plot. And A Peep into the Future by rain and leaves inspired me It's really good, but really sad. I swear, I cried while I was reading it! _

_A warning, this is very short. So don't complain about it. _

I creep by her window. It's dark, but it's open. Slowly, ever so slowly, I open it. There is a faint creak, and I halt. I want to surprise her.

Gently, softly, I fly into her room. Her new one. She's fifteen now, and has a separate room. I know she misses the old one.

I land on the lush carpeting, a dusty rose color. It's not like her. The old Wendy would have wanted a sky blue carpet, so she could imagine herself flying again. She would want to feel the wispy clouds on her shoulders, the exhilaration of seeing Neverland from so high up.

I creep up to her bed. It is a dark wood, with white drapes that pull around it to from a little hideaway. The curtains are left alone, and I am glad. It means that some part of her is still left.

Her hair is so silky and smooth, spread out on the pillow like tendrils waiting for something to grasp. It would shine greatly in the summer sun. But there is only a flickering candle almost at its end.

I sneak around to the other side. There is a diamond tear still on her cheek. Her face is the same, but different. It's softer, but somehow harder. Her cheeks are still rosy, but there is a paleness to them that I haven't seen before.

Tenderly, carefully, I wipe that single glittering tear off of her cheek. Her skin is so smooth. I relish in the feel of it against my thumb.

Her eyes flutter open, like a little butterfly. She takes in what she sees, and another tears flows down, on the other cheek. This time. I start to dap that little drop too, but she catches my hand.

"Oh, Peter," she whispers, and her large eyes are dripping from sorrow. There is so much in there I can't take it. The memories of that sight are back in my head, when I've tried so hard to keep them at bay.

She's dead.

I saw it happen. I didn't mean to, but I did. And it's been haunting me every night since.

He comes in, stumbling and wavering. He's drunk. Even from my perch on the window, I can smell the drink on his breath. It is a horrible smell. I fly away quickly and come back, desperate for a gulp of fresh night air.

"_Oh George!" she cries. Her voice is full of anguish and worry. Her eyes are full, not sparkling like they normally do. _

"_I want- I want a drink," he slurs. He takes a few teetering steps toward her. She steps back. She's afraid. _

"_No George. You've had enough." Her voice is soft, but commanding. He gets enraged. _

"_I want my drink!" he bellows. _

"_George, no!" her voice gets higher. She is truly frightened._

"_Yes!" he roars. He punches her so hard that she flies across the room. Her head thuds against the wall with a sickening sound. She's dead. I know she is. _

Now tears are spilling down my face and into my mouth. The saltiness brings me back to life.

"I miss her so!" Wendy sobs. "And now we're going to live with my aunt and uncle!"

I can't bear it. I take this weeping creature into my arms and hold her tight. Her body heat comforts me and she seems to fit me just right. I want to hold her close forever, so I will know that this isn't just a dream, just something from my imagination.

Finally her tears slow down.

I float over to the candle, which has gone out in all this time. I find the matches, strike one, and the candle burns anew. The room is washed with shadows now, but mine behaves.

She sits on the bed, staring at her hands. She isn't doing anything. This can't be Wendy. It just can't.

What if she runs out of happy thoughts? She'll be buried in a layer of misery, hiding beneath mounds of sorrow, drowning in her tears. I can't let that happen.

I go over to her again, looking into her ocean eyes. They are still watery, though she tries to mask it with a smile. I look deeper, though I know her smile a lie.

I put my hands on her shoulders. How delicate they feel! How right they feel. I push her butterfly shoulders into the bed, with the rest of her, and slide the rich blankets on her form.

"Goodnight Peter," she whispers, before closing her eyes and drifting off into dreamland again.

I fly out of the window, taking one last glance at my luminous angel. Perfect in all her misery.


End file.
